Chapter 10
The two men sprawled on the floor weren’t strangers—they were the exact same kidnappers Agatha had hired to frame Kimberly. Agatha’s mouth fell open, her eyes darting frantically as she backed away. “I don’t—this isn’t—”
“They’ve confessed everything,” Jayden cut in, his voice terrifyingly calm despite the storm raging behind his eyes. “The kidnapping was your orchestration from start to finish. You set Kimberly up and positioned yourself as the victim.”
“That’s insane!” Agatha’s voice pitched higher. “I’ve never seen these men in my life! Jay, baby, you can’t possibly believe these criminals over the woman you love—”
Jayden silenced her by thrusting his phone in front of her face. The screen displayed a wire transfer receipt: $100,000,000 to Agatha Jordan. He swiped to the next image without a word. Photos of Agatha laughing at exclusive clubs in Monaco, shopping in Paris, lounging on private yachts—all timestamped during the period she’d tearfully described as “barely surviving on ramen noodles and charity.”
Agatha lunged for the phone, manicured nails clawing at air as Jayden easily moved it from her reach. Her mind raced. Where had he found this evidence? Who had orchestrated the security footage being broadcast during their engagement? Someone had methodically built a case against her, waiting for the perfect moment to detonate her carefully constructed life.
Jayden stared at her as if seeing her for the first time—as if the woman he’d loved for a decade had been replaced by this stranger wearing her skin. The Agatha in his memories had been warm, empathetic, genuine. This calculating predator before him was unrecognizable.
“Jay, please,” Agatha’s voice cracked, desperation leaking through. “I can explain everything! I didn’t mean to lie about the money. I was just so scared of losing you while I was away.” Tears streamed down her face, smearing expensive mascara. “I thought Kimberly would steal you from me—she was always there, always watching you with those puppy-dog eyes!”
Her words tumbled out faster. “And the money—it was stupid, I know, but I was going to give it all back! I don’t need it, my trust fund is bigger anyway! I just—”
Jayden’s hand rose slowly, his fingers brushing her tear-stained cheek with unexpected gentleness. Then his grip shifted, clamping around her jaw with such sudden force that she gasped.
“Where is Kimberly?” His voice dropped to something barely human.
Agatha winced, fresh tears springing to her eyes from the pain. “I swear to God, I don’t know—”
“WHERE?” His fingers tightened until she felt her jawbone creaking.
Ronald Jordan finally intervened. “That’s enough, Jayden! Let her go, and I’ll tell you where Kimberly is. She’s safe—completely safe.”
Agatha’s mother turned to her husband in horror. “Ronald! You would actually help him find that homewrecker’s daughter?”
Ronald’s face hardened as he turned on his wife. “Our daughter just orchestrated a kidnapping, extorted a hundred million dollars, and tortured her own sister,” he spat, disgust evident in every syllable. “And you’re still defending her? This is exactly why she turned out this way.”
He jabbed a finger toward both women. “You two are cut from the same cloth—one plots schemes, the other enables them. You’ve humiliated the Jordan name beyond redemption.”
His voice dropped to a lethal quiet. “As of tonight, both of you are out of this house. Pack your things and disappear. I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s far from Boston.”
Agatha’s mother crumpled to the floor, decades of carefully maintained social standing evaporating in an instant.
The fallout was swift and merciless. The men who had tortured Kimberly either followed Jayden’s gruesome demands or watched their family empires mysteriously collapse within ninety days.
Meanwhile, Jayden became consumed with finding Kimberly. He followed every lead, hired the best private investigators, and offered increasingly obscene rewards for information—all without success. Using the address Ronald provided, Jayden tracked her to a university in London, only to discover she had joined something called “Breaking Dawn Project”—an international medical aid initiative that operated in conflict zones. For security reasons, participants’ locations were kept strictly confidential.
Despite leveraging every connection and resource at his disposal—including seven-figure bribes—Jayden couldn’t extract a single piece of information about her whereabouts. His life spiraled. He resigned from the Conservatory board, abandoned his business responsibilities, and fell into a haze of expensive whiskey and meaningless encounters.
Within three months, dozens of women had cycled through his penthouse. They varied in background and profession, but each shared some small resemblance to Kimberly—a similar laugh, the way they tilted their head, a certain mannerism that momentarily allowed him to pretend.
Tonight found him at his usual corner table in Boston’s most exclusive nightclub, tumbler of bourbon in hand, eyes unfocused on the dance floor below. Tyler—who had somehow wormed his way back into Jayden’s orbit after providing crucial evidence against Agatha—approached cautiously.
“Got some new candidates,” he said, gesturing to a group of nervous women hovering nearby. “All pre-screened for the…qualities…you’re looking for.”
Jayden barely lifted his gaze, red-rimmed eyes scanning dispassionately over a dozen hopeful faces. His indifference was palpable until his focus locked on one particular woman standing slightly apart from the others. She kept her head down, dark hair cascading over delicate shoulders. When she briefly glanced up, the beauty mark at the corner of her eye—identical to Kimberly’s—caught the dim light.
Something shifted in Jayden’s expression. “Her.”
Tyler nodded, dismissing the others with practiced efficiency. Before sending the chosen woman toward Jayden, he leaned close to her ear: “His ex was named Kimberly. You look freakishly like her. Keep the lights low, don’t talk too much, and you’ll walk out of here with enough cash to pay your rent for six months.”